Flinched
by Scription Addict
Summary: Post Waterloo, after they found the derelict pub and the horrors within it, and after Boyds announcement about his job. He can't open up to her, but once he starts he can't stop. Very belated birthday fic for Joodiff.


A very belated birthday present for Joodiff, happy birthday my friend, here's to many more birthdays, and many more WTD stories.

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Flinched

Grace glances at the clock, it's now the early hours of the morning, and looking at the curtains she can't help but wonder if it really is as quiet and dark outside as it seems, or if it's just an illusion. She can't sleep, and judging by the amount of fidgeting and sighing coming from the right of her, neither can he. They haven't really spoken all day, not about anything important, they talked about the case, they've talked about whether he was going home, or staying at hers, what to have for dinner, whether to eat out or stay home, whether to have red or white wine, but every time she mentioned his announcement, he walked away. The bed next to her moves for what seems like the millionth time, and this time it's her that tuts and lets out a loud sigh.

"Sorry." He says.

"I take it you can't sleep either?" She asks.

He pulls the covers back angrily and sits on the edge of the bed. "What an earth makes you think that?" He replies sarcastically, whilst rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Oh I don't know Peter, the weather perhaps?" She snapped back.

"I don't want to talk, full stop." He snapped back, before getting out of bed and grabbing his discarded tee shirt from the chair to the side of the bed.

"If that's how you feel then why didn't you just go home, instead of coming back here? You obviously don't want to be around me."

"I have no idea, but I can leave now if you'd like." He headed towards the bedroom door.

"I never said that, oh where are you going now? Why do you after over react to everything?"

"I want a drink, it's been a stressful day."

"Hah, I can't say I'd noticed."

"Grace, I know you want to talk it all through, dissect it until there's nothing left, but I'm not ready to talk about it."

"Peter, your losing a job you love, a job that has been your life for the last nine years, it has given you a purpose, and now its ending, how can you not feel anything?"

"I didn't say I don't feel anything, I said I'm not ready to talk about it."

"Well what about me? What if I want to talk about it."

He paused, one hand already on the door handle, "oh I'm sorry Grace, I didn't know you'd been sacked too, how thoughtless of me." He opened the door with enough force to cause it to bang against the wall, making her flinch at the loud noise.

She sat up in bed and rested her head back against the wall, closing her eyes and listening to his heavy footsteps descend the stairs, followed by the sound of the lounge door opening, she'd swear she could even make out the sound of the bottle clinking against the glass, as he poured himself a whiskey. A large whiskey, no doubt. She left it a few minutes before following him downstairs, as she walked into the room she could see him, still standing in front of the shelf that holds a small selection of alcohol. He looks a million miles away, staring into the glass he's holding as if it where a bottomless pit. She decided not to speak, instead she simply places her hand on his back, the intention was to get his attention without startling him, but he flinches at her touch. "That's the second time today you've flinched when I've touched you, are you trying to tell me something?"

"It was inappropriate."

"Putting my hand on your back, in the privacy of my home is inappropriate?"

"No, earlier, outside that... that place, that was inappropriate, Sarah doesn't need another stick to beat me with. As for here and now, you just made me jump."

"If Sarah had seen me put my hand on your back, she would have seen someone trying to comfort a colleague, nothing more."

"She already has her suspicions about our relationship, it would have just added fuel to the fire."

"Does it matter?"

"It could harm you, you'll still be working there Grace, and if Sarah takes over running the unit, then it could affect your working relationship with her."

"Why won't you talk to me Peter?"

"What is there to say?"

"Quite a lot I would have thought."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But I do, for crying out loud Boyd, this affects me too."

"You still have a job, a job you love."

"Without the man I love, it's nothing."

He looks at her, really looks at her, and all of a sudden he leans down and kisses her, he lets go of the glass in his hand and puts his arms around her, pulling her against him. "Of all the days to tell me you love me, you choose today."

"You know I love you Peter."

"You know I love you, but if we never say it, there will always be a little doubt, don't you think?"

"I don't know, I haven't heard you say it yet."

"I love you, happy now?"

"Very, thank you." She replied with a smile.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

"Will you talk to me?"

"For fucks sake Grace, how many more times do I have to say it?" He swings around angrily, his hand making contact with the glass he's just put down and sending it flying across the room.

"Fine, I'm going back to bed, make sure you clear that bloody mess up, then do what you bloody well like, just like you always do." She turned to walk away, but was stopped by his hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I just...it was an accident, I'm sorry...I'm..."

She looked up at him, his voice sounded different, not right, she could instantly see something was wrong. "Peter? Peter what's wrong?" He didn't reply, he looked breathless, beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip and forehead, and he clutched at his chest. "Peter say something, talk to me?" He looked at her and shook his head, he seemed unable to speak. "I'm going to call an ambulance."

He again shook his head, but this time managed to speak. "No Grace, please don't." He pleaded with her, still sounding breathless.

"Something's wrong, you need help."

"No."

"Have you got a pain in your chest ?" He nodded his head in response. "Is it anywhere else? Your arm? Your shoulder? Does the pain go through to your back? Does it feel heavy?"

"Grace calm down, its just indigestion."

"You don't get breathless with indigestion Peter, and you're as white as a sheet."

"I'm fine...please don't make a fuss."

Grace reached for his hand to check his pulse, and instantly noticed that he was trembling, so she placed her hand on his face instead. "Okay, but I don't think it's indigestion, I think you're having an anxiety attack, I want you to listen to my voice, and try and slow your breathing down, count with me." She counted slowly one, two, three, over and over, getting him to breathe in and out with her as she slowly counted. As his breathing slowed she gently steered him toward the sofa and got him to sit down, and then knelt in front of him, continuing to talk softly to him. "Okay ? Any better?"

He nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm okay, I'm sorry Grace."

She slid her hands slowly along his legs and up over his arms, eventually easing them around his neck, and pulling him into her arms. "You scared the living daylights out of me." As she pulled back he could see tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm okay, I promise." He placed his hand on her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek, she put her hand over his, and then turned her head and gently kissed his palm.

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Once or twice, but it was a bloody long time ago, back when I was a kid, I didn't really think anything of it, thought it was just nerves, I grew out of it."

"Anyone can suffer from anxiety, its not a weakness, just the bodies response to stressful situations."

He nods his head. "Yeah I know all about it."

"So you knew you weren't having a heart attack?"

"Sort of, maybe, well...hmm...Luke used to have them, quite a lot of them, they started when he was about eight years old, we used to have to sit him down and talk him through them, just like you did with me just now."

"That's very young to suffer anxiety attacks."

"I think he got it from me."

"Anxiety attacks aren't genetic Peter."

"No, but he could have picked up on my stress."

"Yes he could have, but its more likely that it was totally unrelated to you, and anything you were going through. Children see fear in so many different things, the symptoms may seem the same, palpitations, breathlessness, being unable to speak, but the cause could be something as simple as being late for school, or a spider."

"He told me once that it was why he started smoking weed, said it was to relax him."

"Are you ever going to forgive yourself for Luke's death?"

"Could you, if the situation was reversed?"

"Probably not."

"He was just like me when I was a teenager, I was shy and nervous, I jumped out of my skin at the slightest thing and broke out in a cold sweat if I had to talk to a girl." He smiled weakly.

"I can't imagine you ever being a shy or nervous teenager."

"Yeah well, you didn't know my brother."

"Greg? Why what did he do? I've met him, he seems like he'd be the shy and..."

He cut her off. "No, not Greg. Robert."

"Robert? Who's Robert?"

"He's my older brother."

"You've got another brother? Why have you never mentioned him before, I thought there was just the four of you."

"I haven't seen him or spoken to him in years."

"Why not?"

"Because I cant stand the sight of him."

Grace got up off the floor and sat on the sofa next to him, and as he sat back she turned side ways and put her legs across his lap, as she so often did. "So he's the eldest?"

"Yeah, him then Jackie, Lynn, Greg and then me."

"Do the others see him?"

"I think Jackie does, she got on with him better than the rest of us."

"What did he do that was so bad?"

He looks at her and lets out a sigh before he continues. "My big brother was the school golden boy, captain of the football team, star batsman of the cricket team, good looking, intelligent, he had all the girls falling at his feet, and he aced everything he ever did, everyone, including my parents, thought the sun shone out of his arse."

"I'm assuming you knew otherwise."

"Oh yeah, I was five years younger than him, I was smaller, quieter, shy, I didn't really like sport, if I didn't have my head in a book, I had a sketchbook and pencil in my hand, I think even the teachers looked at me and wondered whether I'd been adopted, we were like chalk and cheese."

"Well you must have proved them wrong at some point."

"Eventually, I had a growth spurt during the summer holidays when I was 13, and returned to school looking like a bronzed Adonis."

Grace couldn't hide the laughter, " you clearly had a good imagination, if nothing else."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Okay, I returned looking like a taller, thinner and spottier version of the same clumsy, nervous teenager."

"So how did you become the version of you that I see before me?"

"As well as being the school hero, or so he thought, my older brother was a merciless bully, he picked on every kid in the school, but I was his main target. Him and his gang of thugs knocked seven shades of shit out of me at every given opportunity. So in order to avoid the daily humiliation or beating, I had to run home fast enough to avoid them, every bloody day. I even got into the habit of skipping the last class of the day to give me a head start. Then one afternoon as I ran through the school on my way out, I ran straight into the PE teacher, he said he'd spotted me leaving school early everyday and had waited for me. At first I thought I was in serious trouble, but he noticed how scared I was, so he walked the rest of the way home with me, and we talked. I confided in him why I had to run home, and what would happen if Rob caught up with me, he'd been watching me run home and thought I was quite fast, so he talked me into joining the after school athletics club, he promised me if I ran for the club he'd do two things, he'd make sure I got home safely everyday, and teach me how to defend myself."

"Did it work? Did things get better?"

"Not straight away, he still got me at home. We had no lock on our bathroom door, it was one of those little jobs that my Dad never got around to fixing, Rob used to wait until I was having a wash and then he'd come in and push my head under the water in the basin, he'd do it over and over again, until I was gasping for air. Another of his favourite forms of torture was to walk up behind me when I was waiting to cross the road outside school, he'd put his hand on my back as if he was being friendly, then when a car came along he'd push me into the road, he'd hold onto my shirt so that he could pull me back before anything hit me, it terrified me."

"Where were your parents?"

"They were there. My father was a drunk and as much of a bastard as Rob was, I think that was where he got it from, watching my Dad batter my mother every Friday night when he got back from the pub. My mother was so scared of my father that she used to ignore Robs behaviour, so as not to provoke Dad."

"Did he do the same to the others, Greg and your sisters?"

"He did, but not to the same extent, at first I thought it was because I was the youngest, I was also quite scrawny until I was about thirteen, he was a typical bully, he only picked on those smaller and weaker than he was."

"He sounds like a complete and utter bastard, no wonder you don't see him. When did it stop?"

"After my father left, things got worse, Rob thought he ruled the roost, thought he could get away with anything. Then one evening I went upstairs to bed and heard Lynn crying, I opened her bedroom door and Rob had hold of her hair and had her head pushed against the wall, her face was red and from a combination of tears and being slapped. When I told him to let go of her, he rubbed her face into the wall and then pushed her to the floor, I helped her up and told her to leave the room. After she'd gone I told him what I thought of him, by then I'd learnt how to throw a punch without breaking my hand, but I still didn't think I was strong enough to take him on. I'm not proud of it, but I'd bought a knuckleduster from another kid at school, and I'd taken to carrying it around in my pocket, I already had it on my hand when he started throwing more insults at me, at first it was nothing I hadn't heard before, and it was like water off a ducks back. When he saw it wasn't having any effect, he tried a different tactic, told me I was a bastard, the result of my Mother's indiscretion with another man, some bloke my father knew, and that was why I was different from them. Why my father hated me, why my mother resented me, and why my siblings couldn't stand the sight of me."

"What did you do?"

"I lost my temper and hit him, I punched him with the knuckleduster on, and broke his jaw, as I said, I'm not proud of it, but I was a frightened kid, and I couldn't take anymore."

"Was what he said true? About your father I mean?"

He nodded his head slowly, and turned to look at her. "I knocked him out, and for a few terrifying minutes I thought I'd killed him. I panicked, shouted for my Mother and she called an ambulance, she made me go with her to the hospital, I think she was trying to make me face up to what I'd done. Anyway, we spent along time alone in a waiting room, I told her what he'd said, and asked her if it was true, and she told me everything. She'd gone to an office party at the place where my father worked, my father, as per usual, had too much to drink and passed out, so she spent the evening with his boss. She and him...well they were later seen leaving the office cloakroom together, I don't think it took a genius to work out what they'd been up to."

"How did your brother know?"

"After Greg was born my father had a bad motorcycle accident, it left him impotent, so when my Mother said she was pregnant with me, he knew I wasn't his, he beat her black and blue, I think he'd hoped she'd miscarry. Then every time he had a skinful, which was most days, he'd give Mum a hard time and throw it up in her face, Rob must have overheard him at some point."

"It must have been a difficult environment to grow up in."

"It wasn't easy, but when you don't know any different you just get on with it. My father had a head injury when he'd had the motorcycle accident, Mum said it completely changed his personality, he'd always enjoyed a drink, but he started drinking to excess and taking things out on her. She wasn't sure if it was the frustration of being left impotent at such a young age, or if it was the head injury, but whatever the cause, we were all glad when he left."

"Was he violent towards all of you, or just your mother?"

"He was only physically abusive towards Mum, he was just a miserable bastard with the rest of us, and you live with the constant fear of whether or not he'll start on you."

"Did you see him after he left?"

"Not much, he'd call around occasionally, if he was in the area, but after he moved out of London we never saw him, I didn't even go to his funeral."

"What about your brother Rob, when did you last see him?"

"On my 21st birthday, Greg took me out on the town to celebrate, and Rob turned up and tried to start trouble, by then I'd filled out a bit, I was more confident, and not afraid of him, I took him outside and told him if I ever saw him again I'd break the other side of his jaw. I was at Hendon training, so I didn't spend much time at home, any free time I had I would spend on a mates sofa, and then I rented a horrible little bedsit once I was posted to my first station. Greg told me about ten years ago, that Rob had been arrested and charged with assaulting his girlfriend. Like father, like son."

"Happy families eh?"

Boyd said nothing for what seemed like ages, and then suddenly spoke again. "I'm scared Grace." As he looked at her she knew instantly that he was no longer talking about his past.

"Scared of what?"

"Not having the job. After Luke died there were times when I didn't know how I'd get through each day, the job was the only thing I had to get up for, I needed that routine, that small amount of order in my life, I don't know where I'd have ended up without it. What if…." He stopped mid sentence.

"What if?"

"What if I end up back where I was?"

"I know how much you love the job Peter, how much you get out of it, and I think I know why you need it so much, but you can live without it."

"Can I? Because at the moment I can't see past it. We both know that I'm not the type of copper who can sit behind a desk, and no matter how they dress it up with offers of promotion, all they're really doing is offering me something they know I won't take. I'm just being put out to pasture because they can't sack me, they can't make me retire, and they don't know where else to put me where I can't damage anyone or anything."

"If the job means that much to you, then fight for it."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Either. Both."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"They made it clear that if I try and fight it, they'll take Spencer down too."

"On what grounds?"

"Searching premises without a warrant, not following correct procedures, putting you in danger, you name it, they'll use it."

"Bastards!"

"They want me gone Grace, and they're really not bothered how they go about it."

"What about me, and Eve? Are we casualties of this bloody cull too?"

"They didn't actually say it, but it was implied that Spencer wouldn't be the only victim, so yes I think so. The thing is, although you both love what you do, you'll still be able to work, even without the CCU, I know it's not what either of you want, but it's still true. For me and Spencer the job is our life, if we lose that, we lose everything, there's no back up for us, and I really can't see either of us wearing a uniform and stopping shoplifters in supermarkets, can you ?"

She sighed. "No I can't, but Spencer's young enough to pick up somewhere else, he could get a position in another force, and as for you, there is life after the CCU. If you don't want the teaching post, then take early retirement. You're a DSI Peter, you've had several offers of consulting work, you could just pick and choose what you do, and then spend the rest of the time enjoying your life."

"Hah, Yeah right! Because I'm so bloody good at enjoying my free time."

"You could be, for fucks sake!" She shouted back at him angrily, her unusual use of such language instantly getting his attention. She lifted her legs off his lap and sat forward before continuing. "What I'm trying to say is that you have me now, we have each other! Don't you think it would be nice to make plans that we could enjoy together. To go on holiday, without the complication of trying to arrange annual leave at the same time. To go out for dinner without worrying someone will see us, to hold hands in public without you checking to see if anyone from work is lurking in the shadows, and for you not to bloody flinch when the woman who's bed you share places a hand on your back. I get so bloody angry at this situation sometimes. I don't just love you Peter, I am **_in_** love with you, I adore you, and yet I'm not allowed to comfort you in public because other people can see us. I sometimes wonder if this is actually about work, or whether you just don't want people to know you're sleeping with me!" She stood up to walk away from him, but he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her back.

"How could you ever think that? No, I didn't want people at work to know, I didn't want the rumour mill working overtime, and the entire office knowing that I'd got yet another colleague into bed! It's not you I'm ashamed of Grace, its me okay? I know what people think of me, and I know what they say, that I'm uncaring, unfeeling and cold, that I've tried it on with every woman I've ever worked with and then dumped them as soon as I'd slept with them, which, by the way, is complete and utter bollocks. That I'm afraid of commitment! The DSI with the worst temper and an even worse reputation. That I was such a lousy father, I drove my own son to drugs and then couldn't shed a tear at his funeral. Do you really think that I want anyone thinking badly of you, because of me? I've been in love with you for a very, very long time, but I never thought you'd want me, because no one ever has a good word to say about me. From the first time we kissed I knew that I wanted so much more than a casual fling, or a one night stand, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and the thought of anyone badmouthing you because of us or me, makes my blood boil, and I'd say there would be a good chance of me punching anyone I overheard saying anything about you."

"Do you really think I care what people say about me?"

"I care! How would you feel if you heard someone talking about me? Telling anyone who'd listen about all these imaginary conquests that I've apparently had."

"I'd be quite chuffed, all these young beautiful women that you've taken to bed, yet it's my bed you're currently sharing."

"Not funny Grace, and by the way it's all utter nonsense. I can't bloody speak to a woman without people jumping to conclusions, the wrong conclusions."

"Do you really think I'd believe them? I know you, the real you, and I'm not the sort of person who listens to office gossip."

"What, not any of it?" He replies with a small smile.

"Well, maybe one or t..."

She doesn't get to finish the sentence, because he tugs on her hand, and pulls her onto his lap, he places one hand delicately on her neck, and gently traces a pattern below her ear with his thumb, the other releases it's hold on her hand and rests gently on her waist. It's a tender moment, he leans forward and kisses her, and it's a kiss that has nothing to do with passion, and everything to do with love, with depth of feeling, and it expresses all the things that he's not very good at saying out loud. Their lips separate slowly, and he keeps his head resting against hers. "I do love you Grace, I know I don't say it often, it doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"I know Peter, I've always known." She sighs gently, "I'm not going to deny that sometimes it's nice to hear the words, it's reassuring, but it doesn't mean that I don't know. Do you really think that I didn't know how you felt every time you took me to a hospital appointment, every time you sat and kept me company whilst I had chemo, waited for me when I went for scans, held my hand whilst I waited to see yet another consultant, took me out to dinner the day they told me I was in remission. I don't know how I would have got through any of it without you, you never once asked if I wanted you to take me or to sit with me, you just did, and you never grumbled or moaned, how could I not know how you felt after all that? I feel your love every time you look at me, every time you kiss me, every time you make love to me. No matter what happens at work, how wound up or angry you are with a case and the lack of progress, when we're together you make me feel like we're the only two people in the universe."

"You make me sound bloody perfect Grace." He replies with a smile.

She snuggles against him and chuckles softly, "you're not perfect, but in the words of that irritating song you play in the car constantly, you're perfect to me."

"Ooh, misquote I'm afraid Grace, the words are, you look perfect tonight. How could you get the words t our song wrong?"

"We don't have a song, and even if we did it wouldn't be that, because it's bloody awful."

"I know you like it Grace."

"Anyway, I don't care what the lyrics to the song are, you are perfect to me, and perfect for me." She lifts her head off his shoulder and looks deep, deep into those dark sorrowful eyes. "The thought of not having the job scares me too, and I haven't invested as much into the unit as you have, but that fear pales into insignificance, compared to the excitement of what the future with you could be like."

"But what if I end up just like my old man?"

"Retirement wont turn you into a woman beating alcoholic, Peter!"

"I didn't mean that, I meant...what if I just turn into a miserable bastard, just like he was? What if..."

She presses he finger to his lips to silence him. "Stop it. Stop convincing yourself that you're nothing without the job, you are so much more than a warrant card, or a uniform. You're life doesn't have to end because the job ends, you may not have a choice about finishing at the CCU, but you do have a choice about what you do with the rest of your life."

"I don't wear a uniform." He replies trying to deflect the attention from himself.

"God I wish you did, that would be one I could cross off the bucket list!" She looks at him, his eyes raised, silently questioning her. "Did I just say that out loud?" He nods his head at her, but says nothing. "Oops." Is her response.

"Oops? Is that all you have to say? Fucking oops! You've just implied something completely inappropriate about a man in uniform, and the only thing you can say is oops."

"That's not strictly true, you're not currently wearing a uniform, I just made a comment about how much I'd enjoy seeing you in your uniform, especially if we were in the bedroom at the time!" She doesn't even try and hide the mischievous grin she's now wearing.

Boyd looks at her and rolls his eyes. "All those years of thinking you were so prim and proper, convincing myself that all those fantasies and dreams were just that, dreams. Dreams that would never come true, that if I so much as raised a suggestive eyebrow at you, I'd get a slap across the face, yet here we are, discussing inappropriate use of Met police uniforms. Tut-tut Doctor Foley."

"Discussing? Discussing it would imply it's a possibility Boyd."

"Not in a million years."

"Oh well, can't blame a girl for trying." She replies with an exaggerated sigh and an impish smile.

"Do you remember the first time we umm..?"

"What that Wednesday evening when you took me out to dinner at that intimate little restaurant. Then afterwards when you brought me home, and came in for a nightcap, I poured us both a whisky and you took yours and drank it in one, then you took my glass and drank mine too. Then you kissed me, and when I didn't object you kissed me again, and again, then you dragged me over to the sofa like a big caveman and we kissed some more and then umm...? You mean that time ? No, I don't remember a thing about it, it's all just a blur." She smiles at her own humour.

"Well it clearly is a blur, because you've got it all wrong, it was you who kissed me and dragged me over to the sofa, and took advantage of me."

She's outraged. "It was not me who made the first move, it was you, and you'd had it all planned in advance."

"How did I plan it in advance ?"

"You had your toothbrush in the car."

"I always keep an emergency overnight bag in the car."

"What for?"

"Well...because you never know when you might have an emergency."

"You're such a terrible liar, you planned it all, the meal, the kiss, the...umm."

"The what?"

"The...encounter that followed that kiss."

"Was it a close encounter?"

"Oh it most definitely was. Most definitely, out of this world." She places her hand on his face, her thumb tracing over his neatly trimmed goatee beard, before kissing him.

As she pulls away he reignites the discussion. "It was you who planned it all, you'd even put clean sheets on your bed, you told me when we eventually made it upstairs, after we umm... on the sofa, now that's definitely evidence of intent."

She laughs out loud at his words. "The only thing that's proof of, is that I change my sheets on a Wednesday."

"Exactly, why would you change your sheets in the middle of the week, unless you were expecting to umm...have an overnight guest?"

She again laughs loudly at his words. "Okay, it's a fair cop, I hold my hands up. I wanted you. I wanted you so much that if you hadn't kissed me, I'd have happily clubbed you over the head and dragged you upstairs to bed."

"You are such a bad girl."

"Well as they say, if you want to keep your man happy, you should be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom."

"But you can't cook."

"I don't do housework either, but one out of three isn't bad." She replies and winks at him.

This time it's Boyd who roars with laughter. "I love you Grace Foley!"

"I love you too. It'll be okay Peter."

"What will."

"Everything. Life and whatever you decide to do, I'll be with you, and it will be okay."

"I think I'm actually starting to believe you, how could anything be less than okay, when I have a beautiful, feisty and intelligent woman by my side."

"Who is this woman? Are you seeing someone else?"

"Oh haha, you need to learn to take a compliment."

"Likewise Peter, neither of us are very good at that."

"I was just trying to say, that I feel like anything is possible with you in my life."

"Not to mention, in your bed."

"Or your bed, or the sofa, or halfway up the stairs, or both those times on the kitchen table, the bathroom incident, and that half hearted, almost disastrous attempt in that bloody hammock."

"Haha, the hammock, how could I ever forget that. The curious incident of the hammock in the nighttime. Thank goodness it was covered by the bloody gazebo ! We nearly had to call the fire brigade out to be rescued from the bloody thing. Can you imagine the headlines, ageing detective superintendent and psychologist rescued from hammock, whilst attempting to recreate a sexual position known as, the swing. I bet they'd have had pictures of us too, half dressed wearing one of those foil capes to keep warm, and you desperately trying to avoid being charged with indecent exposure."

"That was your fault too."

"You have a very selective memory, you seem to forget important little details."

"Such as?"

"Such as who it was that said the hammock could hold both of us!"

"It did hold both of us, until your hands started to wander."

"It was you that suggested we try something a little different."

"It was you that started to get seasick."

"Well it was rocking up and down like a dinghy in a bloody gale."

"Which is what caused the problem, therefore proving that it was indeed your fault."

"Okay, okay, I give in, guilty as charged your honour." She holds up one of her hands in a gesture of surrender, and he presses his palm to hers, interweaving their fingers.

"Me too."

She looks at him a little puzzled. "You too, what?"

"I give in! I'm changing my plea, I am a guilty man."

"Guilty of?"

"Being completely and utterly in love with you, of orchestrating the night we first kissed, I planned it all, the meal, the nightcap, the kiss, all of it. Guilty of flinching when you touched me at work today, because I didn't want anyone to see. I like, no I love what we have, the time we spend together, its you and me, me and you, no one else knows, and I like it that way. I didn't want to let anyone else in to our world, and I never thought that you might want it to be different, that you might want to let people know. To me the privacy made it special, where as, being able to hold hands in public, or kiss goodbye in the street, or tell people how happy you were, would have made it special for you, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that."

"It really doesn't matter, I have you, and that's what really matters."

"It matters to me, you make me happy Grace, and I want the future to be something we share, I don't want what we have to be a secret anymore. The job means nothing without you, and as scared and uncertain as I am of what that future holds, the one thing I am certain of, is that with you, it has endless possibilities."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"It's all true." He replies, and she again stares into his deep, dark eyes, leaning forward and kissing him, this time it's not tender and loving, this time it's passionate and rough, and holds the promise of so much more. As they pull apart he has a little glint in his eye. "Is that hammock still in the garden?"

The end


End file.
